She turned her back to the rising sun and the song of the crashing waves, sea salt stung her eyes and spray clung to the thin cotton of her shirt. She swayed with the gentle weight of the waves bouncing against her tipsy frame. The night had ended, if it were a film, this is where she would have turned her back towards the sea to find herself alone, the music would come up and the credits would role. He would have long since walked away, for having finally had his say after all these many years.

But this was real, and she knew that she must walk back to the waters edge and say more and hear more than she thought could bare. She had begged him earlier to lash out at her, to finally spill his anger upon her poisonous path, and with each sentence, she urged him to further. When he had finally come up for air, she had tears, but not for what he had said, but for all she had done, and all she could do was look upon him and say ” We are who we are, people don’t change “, and with a weary sigh, despite the many horrible things that she was, he wrapped his weary arms around Estella, and whispered sadly into her ear ” you are forgiven”.

Those were the last words he ever murmured to Estella, for he finally knew that love and forgiveness could never repair what had broken within her long ago, and that his own heart could never survive any more of her. If only he were able to hold tight to the fleeting wisp of a flicker of hatred he once felt towards her, for in loving her, he would never be safe.

The rain had abated, she stood beneath the lamplight, taking random drags upon her cig, wondering if there were any significance that her left earring had broke, what could that have meant?!?

The fella she would have spent the apocalypse with had gone to take the dirt nap in the bone orchard, what left did she have?!?! How is it that she could make her life count for the both of them? Where was her car??!

The night breathed humid upon her and her scars, those both above and below, knowing it all too familiar in the pain that ebbed and flowed in her in her strung out, hung out veins.Such the legacy he left for her, all to familiar pain, the grief of love and loss, that was her life lesson, was it not?!? Her constant companion in this awful hour, to always be the one on the other side, having to pick up the pieces in the final hours, holding loved ones close and maintaining a vague sense of calm amognst the calamity of death. This legacy he had left to her, to run around the universe looking for that which she did not know. Death always leaves her lumbering in slumber, seeking the answers to the questions she hadn’t been able to hear over the constant low, slow moan of the death rattle.

For she knew the time was NOW, to break away from convention, leave the childish comforts of wounds behind, move away from the familiar, towards the unknown. To see what lay before her in the faded glory of all she had known, and all that he had gifted to her and to strive towards all that await her.

He had promised her Prague, yet, she chose Philly, it’s a P, so it counts, right?!? A place to redesign her life, her soul, a new chapter in her sordid story to tell in years to come.She was both brave and crazy, isn’t that the best intro to so many great stories?!? The gal who did the impossible, who sold her soul for the sake of adventure and poetry, and wished to be something more, yes, that’s who she wished to be, the legacy, the summation of her, for she had so much more to give, receive, and to be.

The rain swept heavy on the windshield, on the move again, always cloaked by night air and the faint stain of whiskey. Clementine knew she had stayed just a hair too long, had let the lousy locals nose about her door a touch too long, and feared she wouldn’t hit the highway in time to escape the fear.

She wasn’t meant to linger long, she had the very hounds of hell at her heels at all times, forcing her to strangle the accelerator of her trusted ’68 caddy. She couldn’t begin to account for the layers of dust upon her boots, or even begin to give a damn what, or where, was next. She was like a crumpled brown paper bag, at the will of the wind, blowing her from street corner to highway, no particular direction, just to fuckin’ GO!!!!

Each time she hit the pavement, she had less and less in her faded carpet bag, as if she didn’t lighten her load, it would hold her down, root her in one spot, crush her soul and steal her heart. Hell, it was a pretty beat up soul and rather dark heart, but they were hers, to do as she wished, to destroy and rebuild however she saw fit. No desire to atone for her numerous sins, as they kept her company when there was a lack of rowdy honky tonk to fill her ears and had found her tarnished flask on empty. The moon was her beacon, her travel companion, and the only one who hadn’t fucked her over, she could always count on the moon to guide her to her next destination of faded glory. This time, she had a faint clue, a mere whisp of an idea, and it made her chuckle with that low throaty growl that always rattled the other bar patrons.

She knew to keep a sharp eye for con artists and poachers, but the goddamn poets got her ever friggin time!! But for once, she would allow the poetic vibe thrown her way to pitch her into another scene, and perhaps, just maybe, she might stay for a bit, see what kinda trouble she could stir up, but hell, ya just never know…..

In these days of reflective heartache, I am wistful for the simpler days, before my world became so complicated. There was a time of splendid isolation that kept me safe. I was always a solitary soul, very adept at being alone. Keeping company with very few, but they were my constant, and they were all I needed. Fears of the world we live in and life in general kept me on the fringes, where I was somewhat comfortable.

I wasn’t unhappy, not lonely, just woefully awkward. Bound in routine, everything in its place, and a place for everything, I carved out a gentle existance. Keeping a safe distance allowed for twilight strolls, random evening drives with music as my copilot, long nights of writing and happy suppers with the few I dared to care about.

The dearest of them all was Ian, my best friend. We were a riot of a whirlwind, not a moment was mundane or insignificant, we made it all count. We radiated and glowed, a glorious bundle of laughter and love. Together we grew up and grew into ourselves, with him, I found what it was to truly be friends, to trust, and to love, and to be loved. No amount of tears or fears could have ever kept my heart from growing so large with love and admiration.

For a good many years, my every day life included him and our endless shenanigans. Both dreamers, we believed in each other in ways most never dare. In him, I found strength, love does that you know. And together we made the world shimmer with anticipation. I suppose when you are young, you look about during a moment of delicious perfection, and believe with all your heart that this is how your life is always going to be. For so long, we felt that to be a simple fact.

We had 17 years of loving one another ferociously, time and distance held nothing on our hearts. East and West coast, we cared not, for we knew that we always had one another. Failed relationships, careers and artistic endevours, they meant nary a thing, for we were always each others biggest fans, he made me feel as if no matter what, that I had always grabbed the brass ring. 17 years sounds like a large number, but it isn’t, for me, now, it is far too small, for I was so certain that we had an eternity, and then some.

I got the news on a Monday morning, and I always say, good news always sleeps until noon, I know this to be true. Ian had gone from sleep to take the dirt nap in the bone orchard, and as I screamed and cried and vomited, I was certain that before the longest day were to come to an end, that I too would die, from a broken heart. The news spread across the continent, and I felt many other hearts lurch in grief. I was surprised the world didn’t drown for all the tears that were shed. And I hated the world around me for going on as if nothing had happened. I wanted to scream to strangers smiling, throttle the birds for singing and shoot the sun from the sky for being so viscious and cruel to be shining. I wanted to smash things, beat my fists till they were bloody and make something, anything, hurt worse than I. My grief was so large and selfish, but to me,at the time, it was a testimony of this deep undying love, and the enormous hole in my shattered soul.The tight grip that took hold of me held me low to the ground, unable to truly breath, waking from my scant slumbers awash in tears and sweat, finding claw marks upon my shoulders, where my hands dug in tightly in the attempt to hold myself together. Each day was a new flavor of suck, and they dragged on, taunting me. I hate how hard it was for me to see past my own sorrow and properly console the countless others who ached just as terribly.

We all scrambled to find all the many who knew and loved him, to share the terrible news, to wrap our arms around one another as our legs buckled, and to hold dear to the spirit of this fine man. It was here that I came to see how his love had formed me, how he gave me a glorious map of friendship to take forward. To be aware of the very many friends who worried so dearly for me, wanting to some how quell this endless agony, I was humbled. I had some how become something other than the frightened mouse that kept all at a continents length. Through Ian, I shed that old lizard skin, and become rather human. He often marveled at this, chuckling with delight to know I now had a full dance card, and to know he still yet had the top slot. I never saw it happening, how one persons love for me could spill over and out of my soul till I found myself awash in a vast sea of fully formed friendships. He always gave the most grand gifts.

Two days ago, I placed a daisy next to his ashes, for daisies were his way of saying I love you to me. And that daisy was entombed with him, for you see, try as I had, I was not able to keep him here with me, safe, as I so arrogantly assumed, but I was with him, forever.

I feel him with me, in every moment, in song and sunrise, in quiet and moon glow. The gentle grace of his love will carry me through, till the sound of his whisper in my ear, “sweetheart” is no longer a figment of my imagination, but that which shall bring me from here to there, where he surely awaits, so that we may one day be together, to play cards with Audrey Hepburn in heaven.

Wendy blinked, wondering if Tink were playing some fairy magic trickery upon her eyes. But no, there he was, the genuine Peter Pan, looking just as stunned as she! Did she not come here, to her other Neverland to attempt to mend her fatally wounded heart?!? How could her fractured soul comprehend this addition to her sorrowful adventure?

He was the first, others came to be known as Peter as the years accumulated, but it was he who showed her all that was wonderful and terrible at such a tender age. He was her original Moon Man, the one who showed her that she could in fact, fly about the moon and stars and fall so hopelessly in love with them for all of eternity. He dared her to dream, and in return, she dared him to love. And for so long, they left a trail of luminous fairy dust in their wake. They dreamed awake and out loud, together, and played amongst his Lost Boys whom he had gifted her as another family. Too delirious with delight to even consider the dark demise that awaited them, never knowing how long they would wander and wonder if the other were still somewhere to perhaps be found again.

There came a terrible tragedy, one too painful to speak out loud, and Wendy did something that not only broke Peters heart, but hers as well, she ran away from Neverland, silently, and found a suitable place to stop running, even if it were for but a short time. When she had secluded herself upon a tiny island, she would force away her thoughts of him, never knowing that this would only leave her window open for others like him to come at night, with glimmering promises and fly off with her, only to find herself falling away, always. And she kept their story from all she knew, never wishing to perhaps conjure him lest she should utter his name.

And so they stood, gazing wordlessly at one another, never to have guessed this to happen, here, her other Neverland, of all places!!! Then he smiled, and she heard herself exhale. Fear melted away, words were formed, and the years fell away from their faces and frames, to be transformed to their younger, unscared selves. There was no sound of a clock ticking in a crocodiles belly, no stomping of Hook, just quiet delight.

Soon, their words fell into step with their feet, walking and talking, telling one another of what the many years had brought to them, and the unscathed fascination with the contents of the world dripped over them. All too soon, the hour had grown so very late, and Wendy surprised herself something ferocious, she spoke. She spoke of that which tore them asunder, she had a terrible urgency to atone for her sins, and as it would be, Peter felt much the same. Had truer words and apologies ever been spoken in any faction of Neverland? She doubted it enormously. This burden from half a lifetime ago fell away, being merely bits of grey dust as settled upon the ground, where they left it.

By now, you , the reader of this fine tale, must have surely concluded that Wendy and Peter were then to fly away, together, back to their land of splendid magic, and in other story, yes that very well would have been the case, but no, not now. Perhaps some silent portion in each of their hearts would gladly have lept at such a chance given by the angels, but they both knew it was not the way their story was going to have to end.

In the end, at least the end of this portion of this particular chapter, Peter was ever the gentleman, helping her steady her feet upon the pirate ship that would take her back, but not before he placed precious gems about her wrist, cuffing her to him in some small way forever. And as the boat were to depart, she turned towards the sun, called out to him, her moon, and said what she had never said before,…..

As Clementine had always been snarky in her suspicions, she had been acutely aware that no matter where she went, there she was, getting in her own way! However, this time, instead of the ever present fear of being pinched by the brass, it all took a turn for the more interesting.

She had run away from home for the first time 20 years ago, and precisely 20 years to the very date, she did the very same. For on this day, she ran away from home in order to go home,the same home as she had found herself all those ragged torn years back. Back then, she had ran away from the raw pain of a terrible mistake she never could speak aloud . It was the first time she had willingly broken her own heart, out of childish fear.

And this time, much like the first, she took flight in the hours before sun up, and just like then, her heart lept madly as the ferry brought her to her first glimpse of the island. And she was still yet startled, kindly,by the low, mournful bleating of the ferry horn, the sound matching the same muted shades of grey that doted the landscape and sky.

Funny how her boots never allowed for her to stay truly steady upon the cobblestone. The day was grey and slightly damp, causing her hair to curl curiously. Her hands still yer shook from the deep sorrow that nestled in her rattled soul, from when she had received the news that her most beloved had slipped away during the night, to go take a dirt nap in the bone orchard. So when her hand fumbled slightly withthe door handle, she silently cursed the too little sleep and too much whiskey, but as her eyes met his cool blue gaze, beyond surprised, she realized it was because she had felt it that entire day. He was here, 20 years later, looking just as she had when she skipped town like a school girl. She was quickly reduced to the same stumbling, bumbling mouse she had been when they were young and had been lovers. All the swagger drained from her, she forgot to be scathing and haughty, Stark emotional nudity had long since gone by the wayside, yet, here it roosted, as they dared not blink in disbelief. They uttered halting greetings to one another, and she blathered something immediately forgotten and raced up the stairs. As she closed the door to her room, she sat heavily upon the bed and finally remembered to exhale.

She cursed her wander lust silently and hurled silent accusations at her boots. Could this have been the reason for the tremendous sense of urgency she felt to come here? Why after 20 years did she have to come here THIS particular day?!? Was she meant to reconcile something from so long back so that she could perhaps move forward now?? Did the Universe demand that she atone for her first sin, to make right her wrong? A certain sage had reminded her that very morning that things do not happen for no reason, only now did Clementine realize that is was no joke, yet it was on her.

She cocked her head slightly to one side, as if to try to decipher the blaring message the universe was screaming at her, and she waited, and listened harder,